50 Shades of Magic
by NyxDragonBorne
Summary: Anastasia Potter had left the wizarding world as soon as her duty to the prophecy was complete, she is now happy to live a relatively normal if somewhat lonely life away from the backstabbing brits. That is until Mr. Grey shows up to entice her into a world she never knew she needed. Grey/Fem!HP
1. Chapter 1

Adopted Story- This is me doing a re write so until chapter three most of this won't be my own work

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or Fifty Shades of Grey nor am I writing this

Adopted from shades of green ... most of chapter 1 is not my writing... pretty canon besides the whole dating a magical girl thing

not written for the purpose of profit.- nor do characters or premise belong to me... consider this valid for entire story

Anastasia is Fem HP attempting to escape wizarding world after final battle

Hope you enjoy x

I woke to the sound Kate's wailing in the living room. "Please God, please not this, not today!" I heard her beg. What was going on now- wasn't Kate supposed to be on her way to Seattle by now? What was she doing.

Dragging myself out of bed, I put on my pink bunny slippers and purple dressing gown and opened the door, "What's the matter?" I asked Kate, she was sat down on the sofa covered in a blanket her eyes were watering and her nose was red. She coughed and blew her nose, yet she still retained her grace and dignity, how does she do it? Even down with the flu she looks stunning, long flowing strawberry blond hair and bright green eyes.

"It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take me another six months to reschedule, and by that time all three of us will of graduated by that time. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Damn it!" She rasped furious. I felt sorry for her. A chill went down my spine followed by a feeling of foreboding, when Kate suddenly froze and looked up at me in that way only Katherine Kavanagh can, "Ana, please please please, could you do the interview for me." She begged me batting her eyelashes. I didn't know how to do an interview so I would probably screw up majorly and with such a renowned interviewee seeing me muddle through it would probably be bad for my health,

"I'm not so sure-" I said.

"Please, please I need Christian Greys interview." She continued to beg, before bursting into a fit of sneezes. Kate looked really pathetic right now, in sad way that made you want to just envelop her in a hug and comfort her. I sighed once again Kate was going to get her way.

"Fine, just let me take a quick shower and get dressed." I grumble.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Kate chanted.

I turned and walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower. I turned off the water put my dressing gown back on and hurried barefoot back into my room. I took a pair of baby pink lace panties and matching bra out and put them on, I put on a pair of black jeans, a white blouse and my smoky grey waterfall cardigan and my dark brown Dragon hide jacket over that.

I walked over to the bed and pulled my wand holder out from under my pillow, the wand. Tucked safely within it's dragonhide cage and strapped it around my right thigh. Thankful it had a 'notice me not' charm woven in to the hide to keep it from the muggles wandering eyes.

I put on my favourite tan ugg boots, but they didn't do much for my small height of five foot three. I out a little gloss on my lips and a bit of mascara just enough to make my emerald green eyes pop.

Now to battle my waist length wavy coal black hair- it just won't behave. I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable. it would have to do, I gave my pale face a look over. I straightened out my full fringe making sure it covered the lightning bolt scar on my forehead, the rest of my scars from the war and my relatives were mostly able to be covered by glamors. The only ones that weren't were the basilisks bite, which presented itself as a silvery oval, and the line from Umbridge.

I picked up my handbag and re-entered the living room. "Thanks again for doing this for me." Kate sniffles.

"It's fine what are friends for." I answer sincerely. She gave me a glazed over smile. "You should get back to bed, the best thing for the flu is sleep, would you like some Nyquil or do you want some Tylenol?"

"Nyquil, please. Here are all the question I was going to ask and my digital recorder. Just press the record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."

"I don't know anything about him," I mutter, trying to suppress the image of me making a fool of myself and the super successful business man laughing his ass off at me, while I crash and burn. A shudder runs down my spine. Snap out of it me! I've fought dragons and fifty foot snakes, I managed to keep the trauma of being attacked by giant human eating spiders to a minimum and only freak out a little when I see the household spiders. I fought and defeated a sociopath who had the tenacity of a cockroach and serious daddy issues. I can do this!

"The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late. Take my car. Wait! You can drive right?" Kate asked puffy red rimmed eyes wide. I gave her a look of mock offence,

"Of course I can drive what do you take me for." I put my hand over my chest and huff. Thank you Andromeda, the one who reminded me that if I was going to live in the Muggle world, it would be best to get a Muggle driving licence for appearance sakes. "Okay I'm off, go back to bed Kate, there's some leftover soup from yesterday, heat it up later." I stare at her fondly. Only Kate would ever be able to make me do this kind of thing.

"I will. Good look and thanks, Ana as usual, you're a lifesaver." Gathering my handbag, I smile wryly at her, then I head out the door to the car. I can't believe I let Kate talk me into this. Then again I didn't put up much of a fight and I felt sorry for her she'd been itching to do this interview for so long only to get ill on the day of it, the irony. How could I not help her. She'll make a wonderful journalist one day. She's articulate, strong, a grand master in the art of persuasion, argumentative, beautiful- and she's one of my dearest, dearest friends.

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, Washington, toward Interstate 5. it's still early and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Kate has lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. It's too bad I've never been to Seattle, I would of Apparated straight there in an instant, but—I haven't so it's impossible. Anyway the Merc is a joy to drive and I can admire the scenery. I put my foot down a little more and I love the feeling as the car speeds up, reminding me of when I used to fly around on my broomstick.

My final destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with GREY HOUSE written discreetly in steel over the front doors. It's a muggle creation that puts all magically created building to shame, since the magical community is still one hundred years behind the rest of the world. I imagine the muggle world one hundred years from now- all holograms and flying cars and then the magical world just moving on from horse and carriage to three wheeler cars.

It's a quarter to two when I arrive, and I thank Merlin that I'm not not late as I walk into the enormous-and slightly intimidating-glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby. Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, platinum blond young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks immaculate, and I can't help but think that she's the female version of Draco. I try to keep the smile off my face.

"I'm here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh." Ana had adopted the last name Steele when she had fled from briton, it was probably one of the most mundane names she could think of and it helped that she had finally gotten rid of her glasses and was able to retain a semi-healthy weight, though her childhood of malnourishment would be clear to anyone who could recognize the signs.

"Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow as I clear my throat in an attempt to keep my face in neutral, but boy does she remind me of Draco when she arched her eyebrow, and I think that I'll send a letter to him informing him that I met his female counterpart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I try to imagine what his reaction would be.

"Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, looking amused for some reason, as I sign in. I look down at what I'm wearing and I suddenly feel very underdressed. She hands me the security pass that has "visitor" very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help but smirk. It's obvious that I'm just visiting. I stick out like a sore thumb amongst these sharply dressed individuals, the feeling of being inadequate rises, I inwardly sigh.

Thanking her, I walk over to where the elevators are walking past two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits. The elevator whisks me at terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open, and I find myself in another large lobby-again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. There's another desk of sandstone and another Draco look alike, this time dressed impeccably in black and white, who rises to greet me.

"Miss Steele, could you wait here please?" She to an area decorated with white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with equally spacious dark wood table and a least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the sound. It's a stunning vista, and for a moment I'm paralysed by the view. Wow. I take a seat and hunt for the question in my backpack, and give them a quick once over. I'm crying on the inside how am I supposed to interview someone I don't know anything about, I curse Kate for not giving me a crash course in Christian Grey. I don't even know how old he is, he could be ninety or thirty-five for all I know.

The uncertainty is gnawing away at my calm and collected mind, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, not since the delightful Dolores Umbridge and her detentions with the blood quill. The scar on my right hand that read I shall not tell lies was still there as clear as the day it was made. I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and rubbed it, I still remembered the pain vividly.

Since that time I've preferred my own company, sitting down in front of the fire of the common rooms in the dorms of Hogwarts with a classic British novel- I'd thank Granger for introducing me to the wonderful books, but her and Weasley had been all for me joining the Ministry as their puppet poster girl, and had even backed the bill proposing that important political figures should be required to reside in Britain exclusively and marry a british citizen with at least matching magical status if not wealthy.

Get it together, Potter. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel. Another elegant, flawlessly dressed Draco doppelgänger comes out of a large door to the right. What was with all these immaculate blonds? It's like a Malfoy spawning factory. Taking a deep breath, I hold in the urge to snigger and stand up.

"Miss Steele?" Doppelgänger mark three asked.

"Yes," I respond, but my voice catches in my throat, my nerves are really starting to annoy me, I try to calm down and clear my throat. "Yes," There now I don't sound weird.

"Mr Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh, yes please." I take off my jacket, my accent sounding thick and smooth against her own.

"Have you been offered any refreshment?"

"Um—no." Oh dear Draco doppelgänger No'2 is in trouble.

Doppelgänger No'3 frowns at the young woman at the desk.

"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks turning her attention back to me.

"A cup of tea please. Thank you," I murmur.

"Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a cup of tea." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer. "My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr Grey will be another five minutes."

Olivia returns with a white tea cup and saucer. " Here you go, Miss Steele. Would you like any milk or sugar." Olivia asks.

I immediately nod, and she sets down two dishes containing the sweetener and cream. I absolutely refuse to feel guilty as the blonds look at me dubiously with how much I had added to the tea, their skinny, toned figures probably didn't even remember what sugar tasted like. I indulge in the sweet drink, I can barely keep weight on my body as it is, so no way am I going to decline in order for the other women to feel superior.

Doppelgänger No'3 marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. Maybe Mr. Grey insists on all his female employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal in the USA, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African American man with short dreads exits. Oh my I'm definitely wearing the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door, "Golf this week, Grey?"

I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. From out the corner of my eye I see Olivia jump up and call the elevator. She seems to have the art of jumping out of her seat down. She's even more nervous than me! "Good afternoon, ladies," he says as he leaves through the sliding door.

"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through," Draco's doppelgänger no'3 says. I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress the nerves. Gathering the questions and my handbag, the cup of tea now long forgotten, I make my way to the partially open door. "You don't need to knock—just go in." She smiles kindly.

I push open the door with confidence, I take a step into the room and my feet decide to tango. I tripped and went flying head-first into the office.

Double crap—me and my stupid two left feet! I'm on my hands and knees in doorway to Mr. Grey's office, and then gentle hands are around me, helping me to stand. I feel the heat rush to my face, I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. Where's the grace I used to have on broom gone to—I could use it right about now.

I steel myself and glance up. Merlin—he's so young, "Miss Kavanagh." he extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm standing on my feet again. "I'm Christian Grey. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?" So young—and good looking, really good looking. He's tall dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and a black tie with unruly dark copper- coloured hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes me a moment to come to my senses.

"Um. Actually—" I mutter. No way is this guy over the age of thirty-five, if he is then I'm Merlin's long lost sister. In a daze, I placed my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me and my magic quivers. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be my nerves that caused the reaction. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. "Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."

"And you are?" His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

"Anastasia Steele. I'm studying English literature with Kate, um … Katherine … um … Miss Kavanagh, at WSU Vancouver."

"I see," he says simply. I think I see a ghost of a smile in his expression, but I'm not sure. "Would you like to sit?" He waves me towards an L-shaped white leather sofa. His office is huge, way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a modern dark wood desk that six people could eat comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the sofa. Everything else is white—ceiling, floors, and walls, except for the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, around thirty-six of them from what I could see arranged in a square. They are a series of exquisite mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail that they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.

"A local artist. Trouton," says Grey when he catches me looking at them.

"They're lovely. Beauty within the otherwise overlooked," I murmur, distracted both by him and the beautiful paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," he replies, his voice soft, and for some reason my face floods again with heat and I find myself blushing. Apart from the paintings the office is cold, clean and clinical. And a wonder if it's a reflection of the personality of the stunning man who sinks with grace into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head and silently scold myself, I don't know anything about this man, so I should be making assumptions about his personality. I retrieve Kate's questions from my handbag. Next I set up the digital recorder, today just isn't my day and my butter fingers drop the recorder twice on the coffee table.

Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently—I hope—as I become increasingly embarrassed and clumsy. I pluck the courage to look up at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed on his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.

"S-sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."

"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele," he says.

"Do you mind if I record your answers?"

"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?" I blink stupidly at him and look down at the recorder on my lap, I open my mouth to apologise. I close it and flush when I figure out that he's teasing me—I hope he's just teasing me. I think he takes pity on me because he relents. "No, I don't mind." I clear my throat,

"Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?"

"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this years graduation ceremony."

Whoa! How come I haven't heard anything about this, I'm temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me—well not that much older maybe six years or so, and okay mega-successful, but still—is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wandering mind back to reality and the task at hand.

"Good." I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey." I instantly regret saying that, of course I have questions I'm interviewing the man! I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"I thought you might," he deadpans. He noticed! Of course he noticed my subconscious snarked at me. And he's laughing. My cheeks heat, I'm making such a fool of myself today, scraping together what little dignity I have left. I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. That's right! Anastasia channel your inner Mcgonagall. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.

"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.

"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare, "My belief is that to achieve success in any scheme, one has to make oneself master of that scheme. Know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is It's always down to good people."

"Maybe you're just lucky." I blurted out, this isn't on Kate's list—but he's so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.

"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, "The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership."

"You sound a bit controlling there Mr. Grey." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. He reminds me so much of what Granger was like during exam month at Hogwarts.

"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humour in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. I feel scolded for some reason, my heartbeat quickens and my face flushes—again. Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? Perhaps it's his overwhelming good looks? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he'd stop doing that. "Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things," he continues, his voice soft. An image of Voldemort comes to mind, he probably told himself the same thing every morning.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" I follow Kate's questions, still stuck a bit in the past.

"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so." My mouth drops open in shock, I am staggered by his lack of humility.

"Don't you have a board to answer to." I snark, disgusted. What an utter Egomaniac!

"I own my own company. I don't have to answer to a board." he raises an eyebrow at me. I would of known this if I'd had the time to do some research on him, but Merlin, he's arrogant. I get back on track.

"And do you have any interests outside your work?"

"I have varied interests, Miss Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Very varied." And for some reason, his heated steady gaze sends a toe curling shiver down my spine. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.

"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"

"Chill out?" He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. My breath hitches. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking. "Well, to 'chill out,' as you put it—I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." He shifts in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies." I glance down quickly at Kate's questions, wanting to shift to the newt subject.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask. Why is he making me so uncomfortable?

"I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct, and I have a love of ships. What can I say?"

"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts." His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.

"Possibly, though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."

"That's odd, why would people say that about you."

"Because they know me so well." His lip curls in a wry smile.

"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" And I regret the question as soon as I say it, me and my runaway mouth. It's not a question on the list Kate gave me.

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go along way to protect my privacy. I don't give interviews often …"

"Why did you agree to do this one?"

"Because I'm a benefactor of the university, and for all intents purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity." I chuckle mentally at the image of Kate one the phone with the PR people ordering them to get her an interview with Mr. Grey. Her tenacity is the reason I'm sat here fidgeting under his penetrating gaze, when I should be studying for my exams.

"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in that area?"

"We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat." I flinch, a small flash of my childhood, stuck under the stairs. Locked in, and stomach growling with hunger as I heard the sounds of knives and forks hitting plates and laughing coming from just outside. I shake my head shooing the flashback away, not noticing the keen interest and concern that briefly flashed over the business man's face.

"That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world's poor?" the last bit came out a little sharper then I meant it to. He shrugs noncommittally.

"It's a shrewd business," he murmurs, though I think he's being disingenuous. It doesn't make sense—feeding the world's poor? It's a really nice idea, really nice. But I can't see how it would benefit him financially, I can only see the virtue of the ideal. I glance a the next question, confused by his attitude.

"Do you have a philosophy? If so what is it?"

"I don't have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind. May take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me."

"So you want to possess things, are you aware if your desire for control is a compulsion?" Mega control issues!

"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do, and as far as I know it isn't a compulsion." I'm shocked he could say something like that do nonchalantly.

"You sound like the ultimate consumer."

"I am." He smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes. Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I get the feeling that we're talking about something else, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising—no that's probably just me. I just want this interview to be over already. Surely Kate has enough material now, I glance at the next question.

"You were adopted. How much do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh so now we're on to the personal questions. I stare at him, hoping he's not offended. His brow furrows.

"I have no way of knowing." That piques my interest.

"How old were you when you were adopted?"

"That's a matter of public record, Miss Steele." His tone is stern. Crap. Of course—if I'd known I was going to be doing this, I would have done some researching. I clear my throat, flustered. I move on quickly.

"You've had to sacrifice family life for your work."

"That's not a question." His tone is sharp.

"Sorry." I squirm; He's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice family life for work?"

"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."

"Are you gay, Mr. Grey." I immediately blanche after reading it out loud, and I look back down at the question trying to will the paper to burst into flames—or me I'm not quite sure at this point. He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I just skip this question, there's no way he's gay anyway. It would be a devastating loss to womankind if he is. How can I tell him I'm just reading the questions? Damn you Kate and your nerves of steel and nosey curiosity, I can't believe she was going to ask that question—I can't believe I said it!

"No Anastasia, I'm not." He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased—of course he doesn't you just questioned his sexuality no one likes that—my subconscious scolded me.

"I apologize. It's, um … written here." It's the first time he's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear. He cocks his head to one side.

"These aren't your own questions?" The blood drains from my face.

"Errr … no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions."

"Are you also on the student paper?" Oh no. I have absolutely nothing to do with the student paper. It's Kate's extracurricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.

"No she's my roommate." He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. Shit, I haven't got a clue what he's thinking.

"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet. I get the sudden feeling that our positions have switched—and now I'm the one getting grilled. His eyes burn into me, and I find myself answering with the truth.

"I was drafted. She's not feeling well." My voice is weak and apologetic. I hope I didn't just get Kate in trouble.

"That explains a great deal." There's a knock at the door, and doppelgänger No'3 enters the room.

"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting." He says not even looking in her direction. Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She appears lost. This time he turns his head slowly to face her and raises an eyebrow. Her face flushes a scarlet red. Oh, thank Merlin. It's not just me.

"Very well, Mr. Grey," she mutters, giving me a quick glance. She then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.

"Where were we, Miss Steele?" So we're back to the formalities now.

"Please, don't let me keep you from anything." Yes, I can finally get away from his penetrating gaze.

"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His eyes are alight with curiosity. And with that comment, I'm reeled back in. He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. What a very distracting manoeuvre. I swallow, he fights dirty.

"There's not much to know." I've never been very good at lying straight out. I do better with giving minimal information and letting assumptions form from there.

"Oh, come now Miss Steele. By your accent I assume your British." I nod my head. "Ahhh, I thought so." He smiles triumphantly. So arrogant. "What brings you all the way to America?" the curiosity in his eyes shines.

"Just felt like a change in scenery." I shrugged it off. He seemed to have taken the hint not to pry and his question shifted.

"What are your plans after you graduate?" I shrug again, thrown by his interest. Move to Seattle with Kate, find a job, try and keep the British ministry from forcing me back into the fold, maybe apply to the american ministry for political asylum. I haven't really thought beyond my finals, this whole going to Muggle school was just a way for me to decide my own path for a change. I never expected to live to see the age of twenty-one, so I'm really just going with the flow, and doing what feels right for me.

"I haven't made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams." Which I should be studying for right right now, rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling like I'm coming undone, under your penetrating gaze.

"We run an excellent internship program here," He says quietly. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job?

"Oh, I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, shocked. "Though I'm not so sure I match the style of the place," crap! Me and my damn mouth.

"Why do you say that?" He tilts his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seriously can't see the pattern, maybe I should add shockingly oblivious to the list right between—egomaniac, and arrogant git.

"Your kidding right?" I'm clumsy, scruffy. Oh and not to mention all the way down south on the hair colour graph. If he hadn't noticed I'm-NOT BLONDE!

"No I'm not," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humour gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What's his problem? I need to go—now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.

"Would you like me to show you around?" He asks.

"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive."

"You're driving back to Vancouver?" He sounds surprised, anxious even. I'd like to apperate all the way home, but technology and magic, doesn't mix well with each other, and I don't want to cause any damage to Kate's car. He glances out the window. It's begun to rain. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." Hi tone is stern, authoritative. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Why does he care anyway? "Did you get everything you need?" he adds.

"Yes, sir." I reply, packing the recorder into my backpack. His eyes narrow, speculatively. "Thank you for the interview Mr. Grey, Kate really appreciated this, she'd been talking about it non stop for months."

"The pleasure's all mine," he says, lips slightly quirked, polite as ever. As I stand up, he also stands and holds out his hand. "Until we meet again, Miss Steele." And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not too sure which. I frown. When exactly will we meet again? I shake his hand once more, astounded that my magic quivers when we touch. It must be my shot nerves.

"Mr. Grey." I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.

"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele." He gives me a small smile. Obviously, he's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush.

"That's very considerate of you, Mr. Grey." my voice deadpans, and his smile widens. Yes, yes laugh it up while you can, because this will be the last time you see me, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I'm surprised when he follows me out the door. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.

"Did you have a coat?" Grey asks.

"A—leather jacket." I stop myself from saying dragonhide, just in the nick of time. Can't be blowing the 'Stature of Secrecy' to someone I've just met. Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling incredibly self-conscious, I shrug it on. Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. My magic surges at the contact, and I let out a small whimper escapes me, but it's quiet enough that I'm not sure he heard it. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away.

His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting—awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in, desperate to get out of here. I really need to leave. When I turn to look at him, he's gazing at me and leaning against the doorway besides the elevator with one hand on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It's unnerving.

"Anastasia." he says as a farewell.

"Christian," I reply. And the door finally closes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My heart feels like it's all the way up into my throat. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I all but leap out as soon as the doors open, my jelly legs almost send me flying a couple times, but thankfully this time my hands and knees do not touch the sandstone floor. A shiver goes down my spine, and the image of Mr. Grey sat at his desk watching me in the security footage on his laptop. As I race for the wide glass doors, flashes through my mind for some reason. I break through the threshold, and I'm free, back out into the outside world. Revealing in the crisp, damp air of Seattle. Lifting my face to the bloated looking sky, I welcome the cool, refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep steadying breath, trying to piece together what was left of my composure.

No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, _not even Cedric, Merlin bless his soul,_ and I can't for the life of me work out why? His arrogance? His civility? His stormy gray eyes? The way his oh so edible mouth quirks? I know it's not the allure of wealth, I'm the wealthiest person on the planet after inheriting not only the vaults due to me by blood, but also all of the estates, vaults and lordships willed to the person who defeated Voldemort, and the death eaters, and Voldemort's own vaults by right of conquest, seeing as he marked them his property.

Power doesn't do anything for me, I have enough hero worshippers to form a small army, so I don't understand my irrational reaction and the way my magic reacted it's never quivered like that—it was almost purring when he touched me, this was _very_ strange _._ Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I try to calm my erratic thoughts. What _was_ that? My heat beat eventually calms down, and when I can breathe normally again I head for the car. As the city disappears behind me, the feeling of embarrassment and foolishness hits me full force as I replay the interview in my mind.

I acted like a complete idiot. Okay so he's very good-looking, confident, commanding, comfortable in his own skin—but on the other hand, he's arrogant, an egomaniac, and for all his impeccable manners, he's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to—he's accomplished a lot for someone so young, not that I haven't but no muggle would know that. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Once again, I curse Kate for not giving me a brief biography.

While driving toward interstate 5, my mind drifts, and I wonder what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic—his words held an undertone I couldn't figure out, also most as if he had an hidden agenda. And then there was that question of Kate's—ugh! Bringing up his adoption and asking him if he was gay! I cringe I can't believe she was going to ask him that—I can't believe I asked him that! And his reaction, _ground swallow me up whole!_ Now every time I see or hear the word 'gay' I'll be reminded of the most embarrassing moment of my life. Damn you, Katherine Kavanagh!

I glance at the speedometer. I'm diving a lot more carefully then I would on any other occasion. And I have a pretty good idea as to why—it had to do with a tall, copper haired Adonis with penetrating gray eyes telling me in a smooth but stern voice, to drive carefully. Shaking my head, he needs to live a little and stop acting like a man twice his age. _Drop it, me,_ I scold myself. I come to the conclusion that, today has been a very peculiar experience, and I decide not to dwell on it. _Leave it alone._ I tell myself, besides I never have to see him again. Immediately I feel my diminished dignity and pride skyrocket, I switch on the stereo and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to the thumping indie rock music, as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit Interstate 5. _Screw him I can go as fast as the law allows me to, he's not my boss._

We live in a small community of duplex apartments close to Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm lucky—I met Ana and Kate, otherwise I would of found myself travelling a long way to get to Uni. The place was bought by Kate's parents for her, and she asked me and Ana to room with her not long after she met us. Kate and Ana split the rent between them and I pay all the utilities. It's been four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate and Ana are going to want a blow-by-blow account, and they can be tenacious. Well, at least Kate has the digital recorder. As I don't feel like elaborating too much about my embarrassing day.

"Ana! You're back." Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals—she's still in her pink flannel pyjamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends , for assorted illnesses, and the a casual moody depression. Ana was sat on one of the arm chairs with her nose stuffed in a book, her deep chocolate brown hair falling in waves over her face like a curtain. Kate bounds up to me and hugs me hard. "I was beginning to think you'd got lost, I thought you'd be back sooner"

"It took longer than I thought it would." I fan myself with the digital recorder, and smile at her.

"Ana, thank you so much for this, I owe you, I know how was it? What was he like?" Oh no—here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

I find it hard to answer her question.

"I'm happy that it's over, and i'll never have to see him again. Believe it or not, he was rather intimidating." I shrug taking off my jacket and wedges. "He's very focused, intense even—and young. Really, really young, for someone that's accomplished so much." I give Kate an even stare as I say the last part. She gazes innocently at me, I send her a mock glare.

"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a crash course in Christian Grey? He made me feel like I was completely inept for skimping on basic research" —I admit, I probably was,-no wait that's not the point— "give me some background info next time okay." Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

"Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry—I didn't think." I sigh. "Was he rude to you?"

"He was pretty polite, formal, a bit like an old man—like he's old before his time. He doesn't talk like a man of twenty something. Wait, how old is he anyway?"

"Twenty-seven. Ana I'm really sorry. But there wasn't much time and I was in such a panic. Let me have the recorder and I'll start transcribing the interview." Kate said.

"How are you feeling you look better than you did this morning. Did you eat your soup?" I ask her, trying to change the subject. The soup that I'd slipped a pepper up potion in, _how brilliantly sly am I._

"Yeah was it was delish as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude..

I check my watch and grimace at the indicated time, "I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's."

"Ana, you'll be exhausted." Kate's concern was heartwarming, but I had been through much worse than working while a little fatigued.

"If I go today. I'll get Saturday off to study and relax," I tell her, while putting on my black converse. "I'll see you when I get back—bye." I've worked at Clayton's since before I started at WSU. Clayton's is the largest independent DIY shop in the Portland area, and over the five years I've worked here, I've know a little bit about everything we sell—that being said if anyone were to ask me if I could do a DIY, I would reply with a modest, but blunt _**HELL YEAH!**_ put a hammer and a few nails in my hand and I could build any shelf, cabinet, you name it—although I may receive a few sore thumbs but that's an occupational hazard. We're busy—It's the start of the summer season, the time people decide they want a new home without moving. Mrs. Clayton looks relieved to see me.

"Ana I thought you weren't going to make it today."

"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."

"I'm really pleased to see you."

"By the way Mrs. Clayton, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to have this Saturday off, I'm behind in my studying and I have my final exams coming up soon."

"Yes that's fine honey, thank-you for letting me know ahead of time." With that she sends me to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm beat, exhausted by the long drive, by the embarrassing interview, and being swamped at Clayton's, I collapse onto the sofa, thinking about all the studying I've missed today because I was holed up with … him.

"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on your offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I feel my face heat up, and my heart starts pounding in my chest. That wasn't the reason—he probably just wanted to show off his immense power and after the gay comment, which no doubt dealt his pride a big blow, he probably wanted to sling his testosterone around. I realise I'm biting my lip. A nervous trait I share with my mother, and I hope Kate doesn't notice. Thankfully she's too absorbed in her transcription. "I get what you mean when you said he was formal. Did you take any notes?" She asks.

"Oh … sorry no, I didn't"

"That's fine. I can still make a really fine article with this. I was talking to another student on the project earlier and she pointed out we don't have any original stills, shame. Good-looking son of a bitch isn't he?"

"Definitely." The word leaves my mouth before I realise what I'm saying.

"Ooooh, see something you like Miss Steele?" She teases.

"I'm not blind Kate, he's very good-looking—very, but I also know he's out of my league. Besides I'm never going to see him again. So it doesn't matter." I tell her. "Besides, you have more of a chance with him, than I do."

She scoffs, "I doubt that, Ana. Come on—he practically offered you a job. Given that I shoved this on you at the last second, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

"So what else did you think of him—apart from he's good-looking?" Why can't she just let this go. _I have to think of something—fast._ "He's very driven, controlling, bit of an egomaniac, really arrogant—scary, has charisma practically gushing from his pores. I definitely understand the fascination." I answer truthfully, hoping this will quell the beast called Katherine Kavanagh's curiosity.

"Your fascinated by a man—you? Well I guess miracles do happen." She snorts. I'm feeling a little peckish so I start gathering what I need for a sandwich so she can't see my face.

"Oh yeah so—why exactly did you want to know if he was gay? By the way it was the most embarrassing moment of my life, and he wasn't too happy to be asked either." I scowl at the memory.

"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."

"It was mortifying. The whole time I just wanted the ground to turn to mush and swallow me whole, It's a good thing I don't have to see him again, I don't think my dignity could survive another blow."

"Oh, stop being a drama queen. It can't of been that bad. Right? Besides I think he sounds quite taken with you."

"You were, listening to the same interview right? He was laughing at me, the whole time—when he wasn't pissed at me for bringing his sexual orientation in to question. He was laughing."

"I bet he just found you cute. You know, sometimes your stubborn and headstrong and sometimes give off the aura that you know only too well how the world works—but other times you're like a small, naïve, defenceless animal. One, that from time-to-time does very amusing things." Kate tried to comfort.

"What, you mean like a bunny." I say, picking the first animal that comes to mind, I am so not naïve, I have killed, and been tortured, I am certainly not defenceless.

"No. Your more like a puppy."

"Did you just call me a dog." I glared playfully at her.

"So I did. What you gonna do about it bitch." She shot back with a smile.

"I'll tell you what I'm not going to do—I'm not going to make you a sandwich—that's what!" I tell her with a triumphant smirk on my face.

"You don't need to. I have one already." she says in a fake snobbish tone of voice.

"You do?"

"Yeah." And with that she leaned forward and plucked my sandwich from my plate, and took a big bite out of it.

"That's mine!" I yell.

"Yeah, and It's delicious as always." I look at her and burst out laughing, she joins in. Nothing more was said of Christian Grey that evening, thank Merlin. Once we'd all eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and Ana, while Kate works on her article, and I was working on an essay about the _Tess d'Urbervilles._

By the time I finish, It's already midnight, and Kate has long since abandoned ship in favor of her bed. I make my way to my room, I'm exhausted, but satisfied with the amount of work I've got done despite it being such an eventful day—for a Monday, anyway. I curl up into my mess of comforters, and wrap the blanket Molly Weasley made for me as a present when I left England. Along with a basket full of treacle tarts and double choc chip fudge cookies—which have long since been devoured. That night for the first in quite a while I dreamed—I dreamed of dark places, cold white floors and deep stormy gray eyes.

For the rest of the week, I dedicate myself to my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy too still working on her last edition of the student newspaper before she has _'Pass the torch'_ as the saying goes—to the new editor like the one before her, all the while cramming for her finals. By Wednesday Kate's feeling much better and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits Pjs.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening - we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers - when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Jose! Great to see you!" I give him a quick hug. "Come in." Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since. Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Jose has a great eye for a good picture. "What are you doing here?"

"I have news." He grins, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh my god, don't tell me—you've actually gone another week without getting kicked out, Jose that's brilliant," I tease him. And he scowls playfully at me, Kate just laughs.

"Ha. Ha, very funny—no. The Portland Place gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month." He's practically vibrating with excitement.

"That's amazing—congratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him too.

"Way to go Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last-minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." Kate feigns annoyance.

"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Jose looks at me with something I don't recognize. "You as well Kate." He adds right at the end, glancing nervously at Kate and me. Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. He's more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is - I just haven't met anyone who... well, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me, if the war made me unable to trust a person in that way.

Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that, _and now someone has_. My subconscious, pipes up. NO! I banish that thought immediately. I'm not going down that road, now after that god awful interview. _Are you gay Mr. Grey?_ The memory makes me want to bash my head against the wall, I'm already stuck dreaming about him every night, since then. But that's just my subconscious getting Christian Grey out of my system. Probably.

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. Jose is a tall man, and in his jeans and T-shirt, he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and dark eyes. I would say Jose is good-looking, but he's not my type. The cork makes a loud pop, and Kate whoops.

Saturday afternoon arrives and I'm sat on the sofa studying, I'm wearing my hair in a messy bun, a dark purple baggy top and gray sweatpants. And my ugly round glasses, I've been meaning to buy new ones but I don't use them all that often, since I got my vision fixed by a healer. As I've named today as my officially my lazy day—no make-up, no primping. Just me in a maroon top, and some grey flannel pj bottoms eating junk food and relaxing. I look at Kate who's sitting at the kitchen, she huffed. "What's the matter?"

"I can't find any good photos for the article, I must of gone through hundreds of photos and I don't like a single one of them." She groaned.

"Your just going to have to pick the best of the worst and use that." I tell her.

"I don't want to!" She shouts like a child and kicks her legs. My phone suddenly goes off—I glance at the caller ID, it's Mrs. Clayton, I answer.

"Hello, what's up Mrs. C?"

"I am so sorry for asking deary but the shop is so busy and I have been unable to leave and get something to eat, can you bring me something? I'll pay you," she asks.

"Yeah sure I'll bring something, do you mind me bringing in the leftover pasta I made last night?"

"Oh that would be marvelous, I always love snagging a few bites of your cooking, you are too good deary."

"I'll be down soon, okay, bye." I hang up the phone and turn to Kate.

"I'm going to go take some food down to Clayton's, do you want me to get you anything on my way back?" I ask her.

"No, I'm good."

"Okay—what do you think, should I change." I glance at her and she looks over me.

"No that's fine you're only going to Clayton's, it's not like your going to bump into anyone."

"Thanks." I say, grateful for her opinion.

"Do you want to take my car?" Kate offers out her keys for me to take.

"No I feel like walking, thanks anyway." I stuff the leftovers into a tupperware container, I have a seperate fridge than kate because I keep all my food in stasis backpack and shrug it on.

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

"Oh your here, thank you. I know it's your day off and everything-" Mrs. C trails off. I set the backpack on the counter.

"No, its fine I left something here on my last shift so I might as well go get it."

When I get back to the front on the store, the jacket that I left behind on my previous shift in my hand. I stop dead in my tracks, and I swear my heart stops beating—there talking to Mrs. Clayton is the man who's been haunting my dreams for the past week. Christian Grey stood in all his handsome goodness leaning slightly on the counter. I watch as my boss flounders, she catches my eye over his shoulder and the silent conversation of the eyes, begins between us. I can see that she's almost at her limit, after all a pheromone factory like Mr. Grey is too much for someone like Mrs. C to handle—heck it's too much for me to handle.

Mr. Grey starts to turn around and I freeze—luckily our eye conversation portrays my panic to her and she reclaims his attention, giving me a little time to make myself presentable—well as presentable as one can be in a baggy top and sweats. I hurriedly brush my hands over my clothes smoothing out non-existent creases. I take my hair out of it's bun and take off my glasses and tuck them into the pocket of my jacket—just in time for the man himself to turn and sees me.

"Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise." His gaze is unwavering and intense, I think I see a small frown on his face when he looks me up and down, but It's gone in a blink. _Why the hell is he here,_ looking all outdoorsy with his tousled copper hair and in his cream knitted sweater, jeans and walking boots? I think I here my mouth hit the floor. And my brain and voice seem to be MIA.

"Mr. Grey," I whisper, because that's about as much I can manage. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are a light with humour. It feels like there's butterflies in my stomach. It's as if he's enjoying some private joke— _yeah he probably wants to laugh his ass off at what I'm wearing._

"I was in the area," he says answering the question that was probably written all over my face. "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele. What brings you here, shopping?" His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel … or something.

"Ana works here, but It's her day off." Mrs. C pipes up. _What are you doing_ Mrs. C _._

"Is that so." He mused.

"Yeah, she was just dropping off something for me. Oh I know why don't you show Mr. Grey around Ana." _Why_ Mrs. C _, why. Have the powers that be chose this moment of all moments to give you the ability to channel Kate._

"I wouldn't want to keep you, if you have plans for the day, Miss Steele." He says looking me up and down, his smile was dazzling, and my will to protest that smile was crumbling at the speed of light. I shake my head, and try to gather the remainder of my still working brain cells together. My heart is pounding like a sledge hammer, and for some reason, I'm blushing like a fool under his steady scrutiny. Of all the times to run in to him it had to be at the time when I'm dressed like a slob— _oh the horror_. My composure is cracking at the sight of him standing before me. Although now that I look at him, I see that my fuzzy dreams don't do him any justice—now that I see him in HD. He's not just good looking but he's at the top of the food chain on the make beauty pyramid—breathtaking and he's here. In Clayton's a DIY store, him one of the richest men on the planet.-Go figure. Finally after my back up brain has finished loading, I'm reconnected with the rest of my body.

"Ana—Um call me Ana." I mutter. "I'm not doing anything, so I can show you around Mr. Grey." He smiles, and again I feel like I'm missing something obvious. What a frustrating man. I take a steadying breath, and put on my best I-am-pro-at-this face. _I've got this._

"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties." He murmurs, his expression cool and amused. _Cable ties?_

"We stock all different lengths. This way." I mutter, my voice soft and wavering slightly. _Hold your nerve, Steele._ I watch his face that leads into Grey's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele," he says. I try to act as natural as possible as I move away from the counter, Mr. Grey walking at my side. My insides feel like their knotting and my joints feel like they've been replaced with jelly. Inside I'm dying—I should of got changed, I should of put on a pair of jeans—a skirt—anything!

"They're with the electrical products, aisle eight." My voice cracks at the end. I look at him hoping he didn't notice. He smiles at me. _Oh Merlin is he handsome._

"After you," he murmurs in that silky voice, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. I take a quick look behind me to see Mrs. Clayton giving me the thumbs up. I make the cut throat motion with my hand as discreetly as I can. The last thing I see before we walk down the aisle is my boss's huge cheeky grin. With my heart in my throat I head down one of the aisles leading to the electrical section, all the while my head is swamped with thoughts like, _why is he here in Portland? Why Clayton's, why not just go looking for DIY supplies when he gets back to Seattle._

In a very deep part of my mind, my subconscious tires to tempt me with the words, _he's here because_ **you** _are here._ I laugh in the face of my subconscious and shoo away the distracting thoughts. There's absolutely no way. Why would this beautifully sculptured, powerful, charismatic man want to see me? The idea is absolutely ludicrous, only in my dreams. The Dursley's had no qualms with letting me know just how plain and ugly I am.

"Are you here on business?" I ask using conversation as a way to stop my wandering thoughts, my voice is a little too chipper. _Keep your cool, Ana._

"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based in Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science." He says matter of factly. _I told you so!_ My subconscious sneers at me in a sing-song voice. I blush at my own idiocy. My subconscious needs to make up its damn mind.

"All part of you feed-the-world plan?" I tease.

"Something like that," He acknowledges, and his lips quirk in to that gorgeous, half smile of his. We finally get the the aisle with all the electrical goods.

"Here we are." I say gesturing to the all the cable ties we have. Why on earth would he need cable ties. I picture him in jeans and a white wife beater, with a brown leather tool belt all grimy and sweaty- _STOP!_ I bellow mentally. _What a dangerous thought proses, don't go down that road Anastasia, don't go there._

His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and the image of builder Grey creeped back into my mind with a vengeance, I look away. He bends and selects a packet.

"These will do," he says that undecipherable smile of his.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape." _Masking tape?_ An image of him binding my hands and covering my mouth, flashes through my mind and vanishes just as quick. _Whoa, what the hell was that! Maybe I've been suckered into reading one too many of Ginny's erotic novels—yeah that's the reason._

"Are you redecorating?" I'm still reeling from the kinky image that invaded my brain, and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. _Why?_ Would he do it himself, when he could just hire people to do it for him.

"No, not redecorating." He says quickly, then smirks. And I can't help, but feel like he's laughing at me for some reason. _Was my dirty thought right is he, no that can't be it._ I tell myself. _Yeah he's probably laughing at what your wearing_ my subconscious cruelly reminds me. _Do I really look that bad?_ Then I remember what I'm wearing. _Yeah I do._

"This way," I mutter, utterly embarrassed, both by my unattractive outfit and my over stimulated mind. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle." I glance behind me as he follows, my magic hums in contentment. _What the hell is wrong with me today,_ scratch that this whole week. It's all his fault, this all started when I met him. The thought that he could be a wizard runs through my mind, but I quickly veto that thought because, though my magic might have reacted to him, there was no follow up response.

If he were a wizard his magic would have responded in some way, and I would have felt it. Being out of the magical world for five years makes one hyper-sensitive to magical energy. No he definitely isn't a wizard so why is my magical core reacting like it is? I decide to drop the whole thing for now,and look it up later in the library trunk I took with me. I must have been must have been staring at him, because he gazes down at me, concentrating hard.

"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, I blush brightly. I feel like I'm a fourteen year old girl, again, with hormones flying everywhere, like wayward spells, _gods how pathetic._ I look away from him.

"Four years," I mutter as we reach are goal, to distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

"I'll take that one," Grey says softly, pointing to the wider tape, which I just pass to him. _I wonder if he can feel the heat coming off me right now,_ I muse. Our fingers brush and my magic jolts, the current running from my fingertips—all the way down to my toes. A gasp escapes from my lips as the buzz from the current lingers a little longer all the way down somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. I squirm, desperate to recover my equilibrium.

"Anything else?" My voice is breathy and soft. His eyes widen slightly.

"Some rope, I think?" his voice is deep and husky, the buzzing in my belly goes up a notch.

"This way." I'm suddenly aware how close we've gravitated together, I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and move toward the aisle.

"What sort of rope did you have in mind? We have synthetic and natural filament rope … twine … cable cord …" I freeze at his expression, his gray eyes going three shades darker. _Oh my._ My breath hitches.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please." I nod, because that's about as much as I can manage, and quickly as I can I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, very aware of the good-looking man's hot, stormy gray eyes on my back, Mr. Grey indeed. I then realise I don't have anything to cut the rope with, I still for a second before noticing an abandoned pencil tucked right at the back of the shelf next to the rope. Naturally as possible I reach for the pencil and with a twitch of my fingers and a silent spell—transfigure the pencil in to a Stanley knife.

"Good thing this is here, or we would have had to go back to the counter. I forgot I'm not working so I don't have mine." I turn and tell him, waving the still sheathed knife in my hand.

"That is lucky," he frowns and looks over at the self, my heart stops— _did he see me transform the pencil? I was careful._ "That's pretty irresponsible, and dangerous of whoever it belongs to." He nods at the knife in my hand, the frown still on his face

"Yeah your right." I say quietly, my heart stutters and I almost collapse on the floor in relief, _he didn't see me! My secrets still safe._

I turn back around, I cut the rope, I pop the knife into my pocket. Mr. Grey looks at me and I feel the need to explain. "I don't want you to think of me as an irresponsible employee," I say smirking up at him. I coil and tie the rope into a slipknot.

"Were you a girl scout?" He asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. _Don't look at his mouth!_

"It's called Girl Guilds in England and no I wasn't. Organized group activities aren't really my thing Mr. Grey." _That being said I would of liked the option as a child—like that was ever going to happen, not while I was with_ _ **'them' -–**_ _Stop! That part of my life is over—it's done—let it go._ I scold myself.

"So, then. How did you learn to do it?" He looks genuinely interested.

"At school maybe I don't know, I can't really remember," I say, the last part a little offhandedly. _I remember it was_ _for a war, one I wanted no part in._ He arches a brow. "Sorry," I quickly say, blushing softly.

"It's okay, so you said Girl scou—I mean Girl Guilds isn't your thing—what is your thing then, Anastasia?" He asks, his voice soft, and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him, unable to express myself. _Try to be cool, Ana,_ my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

"Books, and cooking." I whisper, but on the inside my subconscious is purring: _Gray eyed are apparently my type_. I smack it down, reeling that my screwed up psyche is having ideas way above Its station. _Keep it in check._ I tell myself.

"What kinds of books?" He cocks his head to the side. And the descriptive word that pops into my mind is _'Cute'. But why is he so interested._

"Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly."

"What about cooking what do you like to cook?"

"Um,anything I feel like really, but just for friends and people I consider family."

"Are you a good cook." He asks.

"I wouldn't say I'm brilliant, but no one who's eaten anything I've mades complained to me-" _apart from '_ _ **that'**_ _family, "—_ so yeah—um—." I trail off awkwardly. I watch, as he rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answers. Or maybe he's getting bored of listening to my wittering. "Anything else you need?" Time to move this show along the road—those fingers of his are hypnotising in the way that they move with beguiling grace.

"I don't know. What else would you recommend?" _It's hard to recommend something, when you don't know what the person who's asking you to recommend something is doing._ I sass him in my head, too chicken to say it out loud.

"For-a-do-it-yourselfer?" He nods, his eyes alive with wicked humour. I flush, I feel like I just talked dirty for some reason- I once again chalk that up to Ginny's influence, my gaze travels the full length of him , straying just a little longer on him snug jeans. "Coveralls," is my immediate reply, and I know for a fact that the filter-to-mouth part of my brain has broken at some point since meeting him without me knowing, and I am no longer able to control what's coming out of my gob. He raises an eyebrow, amused yet again. "You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans, in a lame attempt to cover up my checking him out.

"I could always take them off." He smirks. I swear in that moment, my jaw unhinges and hits the floor,

"…Um …" Is the only thing I manage to say. I feel the colour in my cheeks sky-rocket again. I must be the colour of the Gryffindor common room. _Stop talking. Stop talking_ NOW.

"I'll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing," he says dryly, taking pity on my poor overworked brain. I try to dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans.

"Do you need anything else?" My voice cracks as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry.

"How's the article coming along?" I can breath easily now- good an easy question, away from him and his innuendos and the confusing double-talking … a question I can answer without screwing up. I grasp at it tightly as if it was an oasis in the middle of the desert, and I go for honesty.

"I'm not the one writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. She's my room-mate, and the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person." I feel like I'm getting back my mental balance—at last, a normal topic of conversation. I remember what Kate said about wanting original photos, and decided to throw a line and see if it caught anything, though I never expected it to. "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."

"What sort of photographs does she want?" Wow never expected that to be his response. I shrug my shoulders because I honestly don't know.

"Well, I'm around. Tomorrow, perhaps..." he trailed off glanging back in my direction with a vaguely raised eyebrow, as if he were asking a question.

"You'd really be willing to do a photo shoot?" my voice doesn't hide my amazement. Kate will be on cloud nine if I can pull this off. _And he'll be there … and you'll be there … That dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me._ I banish the thought—of all the delusional, idiotic- "Kate will be delighted—if we can find a photographer." I'm so happy, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he's having a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks somehow lost, and the earth seems to shift along as well, the tectonic plates sliding. I hear the proverbial click as they settle into their new position. _What a sight, the overconfident, arrogant, egomaniac Christian Grey's—lost look._

"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. "My card. It has my cell number on it. You'll need to call before ten in the morning."

"Okay sure." I grin up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.

"Ana!" My names called and I practically jump five feet in the air, and my heart tops for a moment. I seemed to have startled Mr. Grey as well because his arms whip out and he grasps the top of my arms. I look up at him to see him glaring daggers at someone over my shoulders. The quivering of my magic is back, he's so close and I can smell his deep musky scent. I almost lean forward to get a deeper whiff of his intoxicating scent, but he lets go of my arms and takes a step back before I can. The other person called my name once again, and I turn around. A little pissed for some reason.

The aggravation bubbling inside me dissipates when I see that it's Paul at the other end of the aisle. He's Mr. Clayton's youngest brother. I'd heard he was back from Princeton, but I didn't know he was back at work today.

"Er, I'll just be a moment, Mr. Grey." Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has been a buddy of mine since I started five years ago, and at this moment in time I'm a little torn, one part of me is happy that he interrupted and the other part of me just wants he to go away and leave me with Mr. Grey— _It's very confusing._ Paul hugs me hard, taking me by surprise. My surprise seems to show with the stiffening of my body, and the fact that I make no move to return the abrupt intimate contact.

"Ana, hi. I didn't know you were in today, I thought you got the day off.!" He gushes.

"Yeah I do but Mrs. C needed me to bring something in for her, so here I am."

"It's good to see you anyway."

"Are you home for your brother's birthday?"

"Yep. Your looking well, Ana. Really well." He grins as he examines me at arm's length. He then releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I suddenly feel really uncomfortable. It's good to see Paul, but he can be a little over familiar. When I glance up at Christian, he's watching us like a hawk, his eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard, impassive line. His whole persona has changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else—someone cold and distant. _Is he angry at me, why?_ I'm still as stiff and unreceptive to his contact as possible, without being impolite.

"Paul, I'm helping a customer right now."

"Even though It's your day off?" He asks me.

"Yeah you should meet him." I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Grey's expression. I expertly shove Paul's arm off my shoulder and walk over to Mr. Grey—Paul following like a puppy behind me. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. _Maybe I shouldn't of brought Paul over to meet him? Too late now!_

"Er, Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place." I get the sudden feeling that I need to explain myself a little more. "I've known Paul since I started working here, although he isn't here most of the time. He's back from Princeton, where he's studying business administration-" I trail off when I start babbling … _this is turning into a right train wreck!_

"Mr. Clayton." Grey holds out his hand, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Grey." Paul returns his handshake, oblivious to the rising tension Mr. Grey was giving off. "Wait up—not _the_ Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprise Holdings?" Paul goes from surly to awestruck in and instant. Grey gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Wow—is there anything I can get you?"

"Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She's been very attentive." His expression is impassive, but his words … I felt like he was warning him for some reason. It's baffling.

"Cool," Paul responds. "Catch you later Ana."

"Yeah see you later Paul." I watch him disappear towards the stockroom. "Do you need anything else Mr. Grey?"

"Just these items." His tone is clipped and cool … _Did I do something?_ Taking a deep breath, I turn and head back toward the register where hopefully Mrs. Clayton was still sitting. _What's with the 180 mood swing?_

She is still at the counter when we get there, she looks up and smiles.

"Oh, your back Ana," she looked up at Grey. "Did you get everything your wanted?" she asked the smile still on her face.

"Yes." his tone was cold, and the smile fell off Mrs. Clayton's face she glanced at me before ringing up his rope, coveralls, masking tape, and the cable ties. While she is doing that, Grey was watching me closely, intently. It was getting pretty awkward.

"That will be forty-three dollars, please. Would you like a bag?" Mrs. C asks him. He hands her his credit card, and I take the chance to look at him without his intense eyes looking back.

"Yes please," He answers. Then turns to me after his purchases are loaded into his bag, "Anastasia," His tongue caresses my name, and my heart beats faster than the wings of the golden snitch, during a Quidditch game. I can hardly breathe. I answer him hurriedly.

"Yes." My voice is breathy.

"You'll call me if you want to do the photo shoot?" He's all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again. _Where did that cute playfulness of his go—I want it back!_ Mrs. C hands him back his credit card.

"Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh—and Anastasia, I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview." He smiles. I feel like weight has been lifted off my chest at his revived smile. He turns and strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me—a quivering mass of raging female hormones—and Mrs. C gobsmacked.

We spend several seconds staring at each other before Mrs. C pipes up with a simple."Wow," she's very blase about it, but I see her hidden smirk.

"I know."

"That's Christian Grey?"

"Yeah."

"He always so intense?"

"Yeah." I glance back at the door he had recently walked out of. This was definitely more than I had thought it would be. I had to figure out why my magic was reacting that way.


End file.
